


Missed Connections

by jicamasticks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Soulmates, side shallura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jicamasticks/pseuds/jicamasticks
Summary: “That's my soul mate!” he yelped, unable to look away from the mark, enraptured.“But why a question mark?”It took Lance a moment to process the question, his head foggy from the existential rush of being connected to someone for the first time.Eventually, he murmured, “I... I don't think they know Spanish.”





	Missed Connections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coralreefskim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralreefskim/gifts).



> this is my @klance2017secretsanta gift for @coralreefskim!  
> i am a whole month late, but a Merry Belated Holiday to you!! i hope you've had a great start into the new year!
> 
> i've never written a soulmate au before, so i took a lot of inspiration from @witty_name's fic "The Marks We Make" (which is amazing if anyone hasn't read it yet)  
> also, i owe a lot of brainstorming to @cool-dad-squad because she's brilliant <3
> 
> quick disclaimer: i have never been to Texas, much less Houston, in my life

_Common-held belief insists soul mates are predestined before any of us are born. However, not much evidence exists to prove as much. The most tangible proof of the bond at all is the subsequent phenomenon colloquially referred to as “soul marks.” This occurrence is when one person draws or writes on their own skin, effectively marking themselves, only for the mark to be mimicked upon their mate's skin in the same location._

 

* * *

 

Grin cracking wide, Lance shoved his field trip permission slip in his backpack alongside his math workbook. His fifth grade class was going to the science museum in two weeks and he was stoked! It was going to be awesome, and he wasn't about to forget the permission slip.

Last year had been an absolute _catastrophe_ when he forgot to get his slip signed for the zoo, resulting in a high-speed car chase to catch up with the school bus, courtesy of his older brother Michael. Lance had never been more terrified for his life than those twenty minutes strapped in the seat with Michael at the wheel. Mami was torn between who to be more mad at—Lance for forgetting or Michael for skipping to drive him. (In Lance's defense, his whole family was completely caught up with his oldest sister's newborn—baby Lucy was quite the troublemaker.)

Which was why _this_ year, he would remember to get his slip signed and not cause any trouble whatsoever. Lance was graduating from elementary school in a matter of months, meaning he was a Big Kid now, so he better start acting like it! (At least, that's what cousin Victoria said, but Lance was pretty sure she just wanted out of babysitting duty.)

Right before stuffing his pouch of pens and pencils in his bag, he paused. Grabbing one of the pens, he quickly scribbled “hoja de permiso” on the inside of his palm in blue ballpoint. He _had_ to remember, and with the way his nana insisted on Spanish at home, he wouldn't hear the end of it if he wrote in English.

Satisfied with the relative legibility, he glanced up just in time to see the buses start pulling up alongside the curb. Panic shot through him, sudden adrenaline pushing him to grab his books and sprint out the door.

Luckily, his bus was the last one in line, and he leaped up the steps before the doors shut, heart pounding in his chest as he gave the driver a sheepish smile between panting breaths. Spying Hunk in the middle, he hurried over to join him, a loud exhale escaping his lungs as he plopped on the seat.

He was about to begin his daily three o'clock tirade to his best friend when said best friend interrupted with, “What's that for?”

Seeing Hunk point to his hand, Lance replied, “Oh, It's a reminder for me to ask Mami to sign my permission slip for the science museum.”

Expression perplexed, Hunk asked, “With a question mark?”

“Huh?”

Looking down, Lance saw, yes, he did still have a scribbled note to himself on the inside of his palm, but on the back of his hand was an unmistakeable large question mark in bright red... was that sharpie?

He stared, dumbfounded.

 _He_ didn't write that, which meant...

“That's my soul mate!” he yelped, unable to look away from the mark, enraptured.

“But why a question mark?”

It took Lance a moment to process the question, his head foggy from the existential rush of being connected to someone for the first time.

Eventually, he murmured, “I... I don't think they know Spanish.”

 

* * *

 

_Soul bonds require time to take root and establish a consistent connection. Most soul mates are unable to form connections via soul marks until puberty, although some are able to bond earlier while others do not connect until their twenties. There have been countless reports describing only partial marks transferring between soul mates, rather than whole words or drawings, before the connection is fully developed._

 

* * *

 

After much begging and pleading, Keith was spending Thanksgiving afternoon with Shiro's family. His foster parents—his third as in many years—would hold their dinner in the evening. Since Shiro had been in Keith's life before he even left the orphanage, they ultimately relented, allowing him to spend part of the holiday with Shiro's family.

Keith was especially grateful because Shiro graduated high school this year, meaning he would move away for college the year after, and Keith wasn't sure if he was ready for that. Shiro was the most grounding force in his life, aside from the flickering connection with his soul mate (and at twelve years old, his soul bond wouldn't get him very far).

The boys were playing Super Smash Bros in the living room while waiting for Shiro's mom to call for them to set the table. Shiro turned, probably to trash talk Keith for choosing Zelda _again,_ when he burst out laughing instead.

Bewildered, Keith frowned, asking, “What? What's so funny?”

Shoulders shaking from poorly suppressed giggles, Shiro waved him off with a choked “Bathroom... m-mirror” before succumbing to hilarity once more.

The pit of his stomach souring, Keith dutifully headed down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself before facing whatever awaited him in his reflection.

His jaw dropped the instant he saw it.

On his left cheek was a badly drawn turkey.

Keith sorely needed to emphasize the badness of it.

The turkey was drawn using the outline of a hand in marker with little decorative scribbles indicating feathers and feet and eyes. Even a gobble. The drawing's failure didn't come from the actual design, but rather from the uneven strength of the lines depicting it.

Sure, the turkey was faintly there, but from a distance, all anyone would see on Keith's face was a hand flipping the bird.

 

* * *

 

_Although much mystery remains surrounding the science of soul mates, studies have determined certain aspects regarding the phenomenon of soul marks. For instance, marks will only transfer if they are made by the corresponding mate. If Billy's sister draws on his arm, the drawing will not transfer to Billy's mate. This aspect of the soul bond has led many cultures to view the art of tattooing one another as a spiritual rite._

 

* * *

 

Lance had just finished trading out the necessary books for his next class (7th grade algebra—oh goodie) with his locker when a hearty slap greeted him on the back.

“H- _unk_ ,” he breathed, hand to his chest as he waited for his ribs to release his lungs.

“Hey, man,” Hunk said easily. “So I know I've got wrestling after— _dude_ ,” he cut off suddenly, turning Lance to face him with a hand on his shoulder. Lance winced under the scrutiny, already aware of the... situation, as it were.

“Did you get in a fight?”

Lance rolled his eyes, answering, “They're not shiners, Hunk. My soul mate is apparently trying out smokey eyeshadow.”

“They're really bad at it.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” said Lance, sighing. “My sister tried putting on some concealer, but it's hard to cover black without caking shit on.”

“Do you think they uh... _meant_ to share?”

“Probably not? You know how hit or miss it is for me. We can't even carry on a proper conversation,” Lance said, shrugging his shoulders. It really sucked, not even being able to properly trade names. He couldn't entirely keep the envy at bay when he saw classmates walk by, arms marked up to hell and back with notes and scribbles from their destined partners.

But at least Lance had established contact with his soul mate at all. Easily half his class hadn't heard so much as a peep from their soul mates, Hunk included. Oh, that reminded him...

“What were you saying about wrestling again?”

“Oh, well, I've got wrestling and you've got theater, but do you wanna get milkshakes after?”

Lance eyed Hunk suspiciously, replying, “Of course I _want_ to, but don't you have to watch your diet to maintain a weight category or whatever?”

Hunk waved a hand dismissively, saying, “It'll be fine! Besides, that new Kaltenecker place opened up and I _have_ to try it out. If I disqualify for a meet, no big—the season's still early.”

Throwing an arm around Hunk's shoulders (and just barely succeeding), Lance laughed. “Guess we're going, then!” he agreed. “...but I'm wearing shades,” he added, remembering his mark-stained eyelids.

Whenever he met his soul mate, he was teaching them a thing or two about make-up.

 

* * *

 

_Studies have also noted that while soul mates often have differing upbringings and interests as children, they tend to share key similarities by the time they meet. Whether this is a result of the bond as soul mates communicate with one another, or whether they were would have eventually shared these interests regardless of divine intervention, it is difficult to determine and, since the result is the same either way, it appears the question itself is ultimately irrelevant._

 

* * *

 

“Keith! You got somethin' in the mail!” Sasha, his current guardian (and the longest standing at four years) called up the stairs.

Hearing her footsteps, he pushed himself away from the homework littering his floor to meet her at the door. He only opened the door a crack, unwilling to let her see the mess he'd made of his room.

The thin woman on the other side of the door raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the narrow gap. She slid the red envelope through, saying, “From your friend in—where was it—Houston?”

“It says so on the card, Sasha,” he answered point blank, glancing to confirm that yes, it was from Shiro.

Sasha shrugged, commenting, “Looks like a Christmas card, so he prob'ly met his soul mate, hm?”

“Mm.”

“Tha's usu'lly when folks start sendin' them cards, when they've settled down 'n' all,” she continued, unfazed by his lacking response. “You heard from yours lately? Not meanin' to pry, 'course, you understan',” she added, catching his expression tensing.

Loosening his jaw, he said, “No, not... not for a while.” It was a small lie, but Keith didn't think she'd be particularly thrilled to learn his soul mate had recently etched the quadratic formula on the sidelong edge of their middle finger where it was easy to hide. (...meaning Keith's soul mate was probably cheating. Keith found himself amused more than anything else, but knowing Sasha wouldn't see the humor in it, he kept it to himself.)

“Well, no matter, you'll meet 'em soon enough,” she said kindly. “Supper'll be ready in a half hour, so clean up the mess on your floor before you come down!”

He groaned, letting his forehead fall against the door frame as she walked away. “It's my _homework!_ ”

“Better finish it quick, then!”

Sighing, he moved his 10th grade Spanish worksheets from the floor to his humble desk where they stacked atop his sketchbook. He sat on the thinly cushioned stool as he tore open Shiro's letter. As Sasha suspected, it was a Christmas card. A picture of Shiro and his soul mate, Allura, fell out first, cursive text reading “Holiday Greetings!” along the bottom. Smiling, Keith set it aside to read the two letters that followed.

The first letter was impersonal, a simple recounting of major events that happened in the couple's lives in the past year. Keith skimmed over it, already familiar with its contents thanks to regular Skype calls. So regular, in fact, that Keith joked about hearing more from Shiro than his own soul mate. (Shiro didn't take those jokes very well, often harping that the bond took time and Keith needed patience and— _yawn_ , this was around when Keith stopped listening.)

The second letter was directly from Shiro to Keith, an apology for not being home for Christmas but encouraging Keith to visit his parents, all the same. (“They would love to hear how you're doing! Heck, just send them a handmade card—they love everything you draw.”) The letter ended with a reminder to stay on top of his grades.

Shiro also thought to include a brochure to the university in Houston (where he just so happened to be preparing for his master's). He even earmarked the page that introduced their art program, knowing Keith was currently gunning for a creative profession.

Keith gave the brochure a fond roll of his eyes—this was at least the fourth one Shiro had slipped him. Shuffling the papers together, he set them on top of the growing pile on his desk as he mulled over the letter's contents. He didn't feel entirely comfortable visiting Shiro's parents without him (as dumb as he knew that was), but he could definitely send them a card. It was too bad he couldn't send one to his soul mate, too—they seemed to like drawing as much as him. Their doodles transferred much more frequently than words, and they weren't half bad, either.

The artistic process was especially personal for Keith, given how it seemed to be the most effective way to connect with one of the most important people in his life.

He couldn't piece together a whole lot about his soul mate, but Keith didn't really mind. In fact, he kind of liked the mystery of it all. It was fun to uncover the little tidbits he could. Absently, he wondered what sort of clues he'd inadvertently given them in turn. His skin was no stranger to being treated as a makeshift canvas, after all.

The corners of his mouth curled up at a memory of Shiro's parents freaking out over the slim possibility of lead poisoning when they found him fervently attempting to create a soul mark on his skin with a pencil. (In hindsight, he could laugh. At the time, Shiro had left for college, and Keith was a lonely kid trying to force a connection with his soul mate. He's 98% sure it didn't work.)

Keith didn't have the best childhood in the foster system, but having Shiro's family there to watch over him and the sporadic soul marks reminding him that he was and would be loved... it meant more than words could say.

Which was why he tried with art, instead.

Digging out his sketchbook and a pencil, he set to sketching thumbnails for a card to Shiro's parents. What was Christmas-y...? A wreath? Poinsettias? Boughs of holly?

_Mistletoe._

He stilled.

That wouldn't be appropriate for Shiro's parents, but...

Keith traded his pencil for a pen. A surge of affection rushed through him, pinking his cheeks as he acted on the spontaneous emotion. Grinning silly, he drew a sprig of mistletoe on the inside of his wrist, kissing it on impulse.

He nearly fell off the stool when Sasha called him down for supper.

Willing the heat in his cheeks to dissipate, he headed downstairs to join her and Greg. His foster dad must have only just got home from work—he was still removing his shoes when Keith passed him by. As he took his seat at the table, Sasha quirked an eyebrow.

Pointing at her mouth, she said, “You got a li'l uh, blotch there.”

 

* * *

 

_Until soul bonds are fully developed, they can be extremely erratic in consistency. This is especially common throughout puberty. A pair may successfully transfer marks for an entire day in January and not connect again until September. This can be caused by stress or other emotional turmoil, possible hormone or chemical imbalances, or any number of other potential reasons, including that undefinable force which drives the bond at all—fate._

 

* * *

 

Lance hummed as he doodled in his notebook. Study hall was usually his most productive hour of the day, but he was surprisingly on top of his homework this week. He had even caught up on his scholarship essays, leaving him with next to nothing to work on. Hunk didn't share this period with him, for which Lance was actually currently grateful.

Hunk had finally connected with his soul mate about a month ago, and they'd communicated regularly since then. Lance was happy for his best friend—really, he was! But an ugly jealous rash had broken out in his chest. Sure, his soul bond had always been finicky, striking at inopportune moments, but he had always heard from them every few months in a random reminder (“thaw chicken by 4”) or miscellaneous doodle (once a full array of impressively rendered spaceships on his calf) or even several splotches of what looked like paint on his forearm (as if his soul mate was using their flesh as a palette).

It was normal for communication to be stunted like this; he knew that. But still...

Was it weird to say he missed someone he had never met?

Sighing, he buried his face in his folded arms on the table. His heart just felt... vacant. Incomplete. Which was odd to say since it implied he had never been complete in the first place, and was, in fact, the topic of a number of philosophical arguments in higher academic echelons. He didn't care about any of that, though.

He just felt lonely.

It _sucked_.

Propping his chin on his wrist, he glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes to go, and then he had English. That was enough time for a doze, right? Moving to return his face to its aforementioned position, Lance's eyes caught onto something on the base of his left thumb.

It was small—barely half an inch in length—but it was a mark. A simple heart outlined hastily on the skin in red ballpoint.

The sight of it made Lance stupidly giddy. Hurriedly grasping his own pen, he scribbled inside the outline, filling the shape until it appeared solid and whole.

Pressing a quick kiss to it for luck, he lowered his face in his arms again, hiding a full-blown grin from the world.

 

* * *

 

_Despite the ease of identifying and locating one's soul mate in the modern day and age, cultural stigmas influence many individuals to choose a traditional (i.e. technology free) method of finding their soul mate. This approach allows soul mates to meet one another and develop feelings prior to discovering the bond between them. However, it is not uncommon for any length of time to pass before either individual recognizes the other as their partner following their initial meeting._

 

* * *

 

Keith is not sure how this came to be. “This” being his apparent friend circle that just kind of... happened. They fell together like jumbled puzzle pieces that Keith honestly isn't convinced fit together perfectly, but there was some glue thrown in the mix and now they're stuck.

He joined up with Shiro right away, who introduced him to his friend, Matt, who had a younger sister, Pidge, who was lab partners with Hunk, who was best friends and roommates with Lance, who kept crowing over the beauty of Allura, who frequently modeled for the art department. She was also Shiro's soul mate, bringing them full circle.

The circle felt unavoidable. They were only a few months into the fall semester, and Keith already valued their friendship immensely. He was just... confused by it.

Well, that wasn't quite right. Namely, he was confused by Lance, who currently sat across the round cafeteria table from him trying to look like a cat by holding two grapes in place between his upper lip and front teeth.

“Okay, but why are you trying to look like a cat?” Keith asked, feeling like he missed a vital part of the preceding conversation.

Lance, too busy fiddling with the grapes to answer, gestured to Hunk to speak for him, who easily obliged.

“He wants to be a cat for Halloween.”

Taking in Lance's fumbling at balancing the grapes, Keith said, “Maybe you should be something else.”

Lance flipped him off.

Keith snickered, the trade-off standard for them by now.

“You know, Lance,” Allura started, “there are more elegant ways of looking like a cat than... like that.”

“If you're suggesting make-up, he already vetoed that as not creative enough,” Hunk said.

Allura frowned. “Lance, you know it's all about application, not the medium—“

Hunk interrupted with a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head as he said, “I already tried. He insists on seeing this through first. His cousin showed him over Skype a few weeks ago and it's been in his head ever since.”

“It can't bet that hard,” Keith commented, considering the logistics. “How long have you been at this, again?”

Popping out the grapes into his hand, Lance retorted, “You know what, mullet? You're not allowed to talk any shit until you try it, too.”

A small bunch of grapes was shoved across the table in an open challenge. Keith plucked one, slicing it in half the long way before sliding the flat sides against the gums above his front teeth. It was a little harder than it looked to keep them in place with his top lip, but Keith just managed, smirking victoriously.

“ _Meow_.”

Flushing indignantly, Lance huffed, “ _Cheater_.”

The table laughed, Shiro muttering something like “You two are _ridiculous_ ” as Allura whispered something in his ear, eyes bright with amusement.

Pidge rolled her eyes, chiming in, “Keeping grapes in your mouth all night isn't practical, anyway. If you wanna be a cat, fine, but forget the grapes.”

“But where's the fun in that?” Lance whined.

Keith swallowed the fruit. In the end, it didn't really matter to him one way or the other whether Lance wanted to be a cat, a cowboy, or even a martian for Halloween; Keith would still tease him. He didn't harbor Lance any ill will—the guy just made it so entertaining. Poking fun wasn't only easy, it felt _natural_. Besides, Lance traded tit for tat, so their banter was often evenly matched.

“Oh!” Allura exlaimed, clapping her hands abruptly. “Lance! I nearly forgot—did you finish that portrait earlier? Or did you need me to sit again?”

Lance's face instantly brightened. “Oh yeah! No, I actually finished it last night—wanna see?”

“Of course!”

The real drawing was in his dorm, but Lance pulled up a photo on his phone to pass around the table. Keith awaited his turn to look while Allura and Shiro admired it. Hunk had already seen it in multiple stages of production, and Pidge didn't offer much more than a “huh, looks good” before turning away. Keith took the phone in his hands last, and stared.

In the palm of his hand was Lance's portrait of Allura in pen and ink. The proportions were a little off in places, but she was certainly recognizable. It was a solid drawing, and Lance would probably get a decent grade on it.

Keith pursed his lips. A niggling sense of déjà vu was sounding the alarm in his head, and he couldn't place _why_.

Before he could puzzle over it further, the phone was yanked out of his hands.

“If you don't like it, you can just say so,” Lance muttered, scowling at the screen.

“No, that's not—“ Keith looked up, suddenly realizing he was on the receiving end of several displeased expressions. “I like it fine, it just reminded me of something else.”

He winced at his own words, Lance raising an eyebrow as he lifted his gaze from his phone.

“Reminded you of something else? Like, gee, I dunno, the other three hundred drawings of Allura's face up in the hallways?”

“No, just—“ Keith cut himself off, sighing. “Forget it.”

Lance gave him a pinched expression before the table moved on to a new topic, not that Keith was really listening.

He just couldn't pinpoint why Lance's drawing felt so _familiar_. Did he happen to be an internet artist Keith already followed? (Doubtful—Lance took so many selfies that Keith would've surely seen one interspersed with any art he posted.) Or maybe Lance was right and his drawing of Allura wound up similar to another drawing from the class? (But Keith barely paid any attention to his peers' work, so the likelihood of another drawing sticking in his head was slim.) _Or_ maybe he caught a glimpse of the drawing and didn't realize it was Lance's? (Again, doubtful.)

Shiro elbowed him suddenly, mumbling, “You're doing it again.”

Keith was about to ask “Doing what?” before he realized _oh_ , he'd been grinding his teeth. He thought he'd kicked that particular habit years ago.

Sighing softly, he gathered his things and moved to leave. He'd finished eating a while ago, and he didn't feel much in the mood for socializing anymore. With a wave and a mumble of something about class, he left the cafeteria, not noticing the oddly thoughtful look Lance gave his retreating figure.

Later that night, Lance sent him a selfie. He'd succeeded with the grapes and drew cat ears and whiskers over the image, his tongue sticking out and free hand up in a peace sign. The caption read “I'll _purr-give_ you for earlier if you admit I'm the cat's meow!” with a winking emoji.

Laughing quietly, Keith made short work of responding with two messages in quick succession.

**pawsitively purrfect**

**if u show this to Pidge ur dead**

 

* * *

 

_Soul bonds have been noted to develop more strongly once soul mates have met each other in some capacity, regardless of whether or not they recognize the other as their mate. Multiple studies affirm a strengthened intuition, which describes the bond pulling the individuals together, similar to a magnet that often manifests as an indescribable feeling of attraction towards a place or object that is, to some degree, tied to their mate._

 

* * *

 

Lance yawned as he shrugged on his jacket. Rehearsal had gone late that night. Several students were going to party it up at the house down the street from campus, and while Lance would normally join them, he had a paper due at ten the next morning and only half the outline done.

Promising next time with an easy smile, he took his leave of the green room. The security lights in the building were dim, but motion sensors caught onto his movement and brightened the corridor as he passed through. As tired as he was, walking around helped him wind down from the high level of energy the stage demanded, so he headed down the hall where art students displayed their work in glass cases along the walls. He liked seeing what the other classes were creating.

The figure drawing class was tackling full body poses, Lance noted, sidestepping slowly as he mentally appraised the drawings. Wasn't Keith in that class? Lance bit his cheek. Their friendship was... complicated? It was hard to describe.

They riled each other up constantly, which made them really good at reading one another's emotions, to the point where they could do so at a glance. It lent to a weird level of honesty and openness between them, allowing a kind of trust to develop as their friendship grew. In some ways, their friendship felt deeper than Lance and Hunk, and Lance didn't know how to feel about that. He knew it wasn't fair to compare them. It was like comparing apples and oranges, except Lance suddenly found himself craving citrus.

And Keith just _had_ to be a Cutie®.

Lance rolled his eyes at himself, groaning inwardly. Okay, so he could admit Keith was attractive, but it wasn't so much a matter of _admitting_ as it was _having working eyes_. It was distracting, more than anything.

Besides, Keith definitely had his flaws. The guy constantly grated on his nerves, his mere presence somehow challenging Lance to be... more. To be better. It was irritating how he felt like he always had to _prove_ himself to Keith, as if there was any need to impress him in the first place.

So what if Keith was on a full ride scholarship? So what if he fixed up his own motorcycle over the summer? So what if he had a really cute dimple on his left cheek while the right was lackluster and it only showed when he smiled a certain way that sent Lance's thoughts scattering to the breeze?

Lance rubbed at his tired eyes. So Keith happened to bring out his competitive nature while coincidentally being ridiculously attractive. Lance was just dealing with some jealousy. It would pass.

Spotting Keith's name, Lance shook off his thoughts, planting his feet squarely in front of the drawing to assess it.

Jaw slack, Lance stared.

The drawing was done in chalk pastel, capturing Allura's likeness with graceful ease. Most drawings depicted the model blank-faced, but Keith's revealed a forlorn expression, eyes averted and downcast from the viewer. The drawing's technical merits were well executed, but that wasn't what held Lance's attention.

Something... something about Keith's art felt familiar to Lance. Like he'd seen his style in dreams. He couldn't put his finger on it, but some aspect of his art drew him in every time. To the point where all Lance could do was stare.

Lance loved art—was minoring in it, even—but he'd never known it to elicit such... such _longing_ from him. Something in the contradictory nature of the chalk's delicate curves and hard strokes pulled at Lance's heart, the colors inviting—begging and yearning for something... something more.

Keith's art held too much emotion, Lance concluded. There was simply too much _feeling_ for a single sheet of paper to support. As much as Lance enjoyed drawing, he couldn't pour his heart on the page in the same way—no, his spilled out in every gesture, every intonation; _performance_ allowed him to express himself in a way other art forms couldn't.

That said, drawing was a form of communication he practiced with his soul mate, lending it a weight he otherwise wouldn't consider. Words simply had a lower success rate in transferring between them. Lance didn't know why that was, but he ran with it, honing his drawing as much as he could.

If he could include even half as much emotion as Keith managed in his art, maybe his soul mate would know how much he ached to meet them, how much he unconditionally loved them.

Retrieving a pen from his pocket, he scrawled the words _I miss you_ inside his palm, closing his fist and bringing it up to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 _Several distinguished figures in the field have noted that transference has a stronger likelihood of occurrence when a pair of soul mates are on a similar wavelength, so to speak. If both individuals are in a similar state of mind at the same time, soul marks are a probable outcome. This takes place later in bond development due to soul mates coming to understand one another better as they get to know each other. After all, the bond ensures they_ will _come to understand the other, not that they will know from the get-go._

 

* * *

 

Keith stared intently at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, brushing his bangs a few directions before huffing in discontent. Charcoal marked his forehead and by his ears. His hands suffered smudges, too.

To be fair, he had dealt with charcoal smears before. It was a messy medium, but it wasn't all that hard to clean off. Except, the problem wasn't quite that easy.

See, for the last five hours, Keith had holed himself away in the _painting_ studio, and he hadn't even touched the black tube.

The charcoal was a gift from his soul mate, who he was nearly positive was studying art in college, as well. (That, or they had _really_ improved their self-study habits.)

Keith scowled, pulling up the hood of his sweater. He didn't mind receiving soul marks, but it'd be nice if he and his soul mate could control the bond better. It'd also be nice if he didn't look dirty before meeting up with _Lance_ , who was clearly trading skin care secrets with Allura. Keith's face paled in comparison—and not just literally; Lance's new routine was deadly to any and all blemishes before they even considered marring his face.

He was so self-conscious around Lance sometimes; it bothered him that he cared so much. Just because Lance had an attractive face, wore well-fitting clothes, and smiled like the sun, that was no reason for Keith to feel anxious about his own appearance. That would be stupid.

 _Stupid_ , he thought to himself, tousling his bangs one last time before leaving the art department.

The clock struck two AM as he stepped outside into the semi-humid air. Streetlights brightened the sidewalks in the warm night as he strolled through the campus mall. A few other students were about, as well—either with friends or books accompanying them, nothing out of the ordinary.

Circling around the brick science building, Keith came to a maintenance staircase that was chained off. A quick glance assured him no one was around, so with a careful lift of his leg over the chain, he climbed the metal steps. The roof was only a single story up from the ground—maybe two if he counted the garden level classrooms.

“ _You're late_ ,” Lance called in Spanish, admonishing him with a wave of a plastic spoon.

“ _You're early_ ,” Keith rebuked, walking over to where Lance sat, back propped against the low wall along the edge of the roof. It was darker up here above the streetlights, his eyes adjusting as he took a seat. “ _What kind this time?_ ” he asked, nabbing the spoon Lance held in the air.

“ _Chunky monkey or something? I dunno, it's banana ice cream with chocolate and walnuts, like a banana split sundae_ ,” he explained, handing over the pint.

Keith snorted. “ _It's half gone._ ”

“ _You were late!_ ” Lance reiterated, gesturing wide. “ _It was gonna melt! Ben and Jerry deserve better than that, do they not?_ ”

Keith hummed a vague assent, taking a spoonful with a smile. After working for hours with oil paint in a supposedly ventilated dungeon of a studio, breathing fresh night air on the roof with ice cream in his mouth was practically heaven. The company didn't hurt, either.

“ _When did rehearsal get out this time?_ ”

“ _Rehearsal actually got cut short, believe it or not. The director caught Rolo and Nyma—I've bitched to you about them before, right?—caught them dealing shit backstage, so security got called and there was this whole hullabaloo. I still don't know the details, but Plaxum said she'd text me what she found out. Though come to think of it, it's been hours and I haven't heard as much as a peep, so I need to text her._ ”

“ _You_ need _to text her?_ ”

“ _Dude, this is prime gossip, and if I can't have the ribeye, I at least deserve the filet mignon._ ”

Keith laughed as Lance made good on his word, digging out his phone and typing furiously.

“ _That's crazy rehearsal didn't keep you. What'd you do instead?_ ”

“ _Oh, I went and worked on those still life drawings for Iverson. I finished four of the six, so I'm counting it as a good night._ ”

“ _Nice_ ,” Keith said, biting back the urge to ask why Lance didn't visit while he was practically next door.

“ _Yeah, I thought about seeing if you were in the painting studio, but it was already after midnight when I finished. Figured I should get the goods_ ,” he said, nodding at the ice cream. “ _But then_ someone _decided to be late..._ ”

“ _Shut up already_ ,” Keith grumbled, elbowing him halfheartedly. Lance squawked some more and Keith laughed it off, not mentioning the little ball of happiness in his chest when Lance answered his question without being asked.

Keith's Spanish had made leaps and strides since befriending Lance, who was all too willing to engage in his mother tongue at the drop of a hat. He nearly jumped out of his socks when he found out Keith was learning the language and made a point to practice casual conversation with him. It was rocky at first since Keith wasn't the most confident in his speaking, but Lance was surprisingly patient, letting him take his time to come up with a sentence and gently correcting genders or conjugations as needed.

“ _You've gotten a lot better, you know_ ,” Lance said, smiling. Keith liked that smile, soft like a secret.

“ _Thanks. My professor called me out this week, though. Said I sounded Cuban_.”

Lance exclaimed with a laugh, “ _Guess my work here is done!_ ”

Keith paused.

_Done?_

Swiping a spoonful, Lance carried on, “ _But I like eating ice cream on the roof with you, so we're gonna keep on 'til you sound like you're straight from the streets of Havana._ ”

A warmth filled Keith's chest, relief breaking through in a grin as he gave an affirmative. Again, Lance answered a question without being asked. It meant a lot to Keith, who couldn't always parse his emotions into coherent words.

They chatted some more, shoulders brushing as they strained their eyes to see the stars through the light pollution. The sky was clear of clouds, but the moon was new, leaving them in the dark as they polished off the Ben and Jerry's. Keith liked being with Lance like this; their interactions alone were different than when they were with the group.

It was nice.

He went to comment on it when a sudden shock of light outlined the back of Lance's head.

Keith reached to jerk Lance down by the shoulder, bending at the waist so that neither of their heads were visible over the ledge. Faces inches apart, they shared eye contact while listening carefully for campus security down below.

“Ya see somethin', Javier?”

Their faces were so close, Keith could barely breathe.

Lance's eyes were so _blue_.

“...well, I thought I did.”

Keith could feel himself leaning closer, drawn helplessly as if by gravity.

_Just stop looking at his eyes—stop!_

Keith's gaze dropped to his mouth, lips barely parted.

_No! That's not any better!_

A burst of static erupted from the security guards' walkie talkies, jolting the boys apart in surprise. The guards jabbered on, their curiosity regarding the roof seemingly forgotten. Chest pounding, Keith swallowed a nervous gulp as he regained his faculties.

“ _Let's go_ ,” Lance whispered, grasping his hand and pressing their warm palms together. Hunched low, they crossed the roof to the stairs. They descended slowly, trying not to make any unnecessary noise.

 _Stupid_ , Keith thought as he returned to the ground. Twisting to face him, Lance gave a shaky laugh in relief. Keith zoned out, too caught up in the sound replaying in his head until Lance clapped a hand on his shoulder to move them along. Instantly, all he wanted was to take Lance's hand in his once again.

Instead, Keith slapped a hand to his forehead, ignoring the question on Lance's face as they made their way across campus.

_So, so freaking stupid._

 

* * *

 

_Soul bonds differ in various tendencies across the globe, as cultures developed independently around them. However, at their core, all bonds share two absolute certainties._

_One, every bond is woven with love._

_Two, soul mates_ always _find each other._

 

* * *

 

“ _Lance_ , you've been tapping your pencil for almost an _hour_ ,” Hunk groused.

The two of them sat in the living room of their shared apartment with Pidge, who was off programming a robot with Matt. Hunk was indulging in a well-deserved video game binge while Lance leaned against him on the couch, a sketchbook propped open against his legs.

A _blank_ sketchbook.

Lance groaned, dropping his head back against Hunk's shoulder.

“I don't know what to do, Hunk! I'm supposed to come up with something to showcase in the campus gallery, but like... what?”

“Isn't drawing your thing? Do that,” Hunk suggested.

“But like... _what_ do I draw?”

“I dunno, dude—I'm in a STEM field for a reason. Maybe you should ask Keith?”

Lance hummed, “Maybe, yeah... can't hurt, anyway.”

Typing a text out to Keith, he set his sketchbook on the coffee table as it sent. He fiddled with a pant leg while he waited for a response. The hem was tearing at the bottom, and he debated between sewing it back or cutting the straggling thread as he pulled on it absently with his fingers.

Aware of Keith's inconsistent texting habits, he waited fifteen minutes before officially giving up on an answer any time soon.

Throwing an arm over his face, he cried, “Ugh! This sucks!”

“Don't you have reading to do for another class? Maybe do that instead,” Hunk advised.

“But this is more important, Hunk!” Lance said, gesturing at the sketchbook.

Hunk side-eyed him before returning his attention to the game, saying, “Yeah, it is, but you're not getting anywhere with it, so focus on something else and let this simmer for a bit. You might as well be productive while you think on it.”

Lance sighed, conceding, “Okay, you have a point...”

Grumbling a little more, he retrieved his textbook, the class syllabus sticking out as a makeshift bookmark. He settled back in his spot up against Hunk, kicking his feet up on the arm of the couch. The reading was for his required general art history course and covered what followed in the wake of Modernism. Lance found the art a bit challenging to get behind as it didn't fit in his traditional understanding of art. Instead of relaying beauty or illustrating historical events, the chapter explored philosophical inquiries and how the art world attempted to answer them.

He got about halfway through the chapter before he had to set it aside or risk falling asleep. As he put the textbook down, he noticed a mark on his forearm. Or, rather, it was a series of blue dots. Had his soul mate decided to give him freckles? Or the pox? He couldn't quite make sense of it.

Seizing a nearby pen, he tried drawing lines between the spots. Maybe it was a game of connect-the-dots?

No, the lines didn't make any more sense than the dots, after all. Between him and his soul mate, Lance had simply made a mess of his arm. He wondered if any of his lines transferred over so that they could share the jumbled marks.

 _Heh, like modern art_ , he thought, cracking a smile.

He stopped.

“ _Hunk!_ ” he yelled, clambering for his sketchbook. “Hunk, I got it!”

Startled, Hunk made a grab for his chest, blurting a shaky, “Oh my god, do _not_ scare me like that! _What?_ ”

“Hunk,” Lance said, barely maintaining an even voice as a wild grin spread on his face.

Recognizing that look, Hunk gulped. He set down the console.

“You know how we said my thing was drawing?”

Hunk nodded slowly.

“We were wrong.”

“Oh?”

Lance nodded, hands gesturing as he spoke, “Yeah, 'cause sure, drawing is part of my minor, but really, my thing is theatre, right? You following?”

“No,” Hunk whispered.

Leaning in close, Lance placed his hands on Hunk's shoulders.

“Performance art, Hunk. _Performance art._ ”

 

* * *

 

“Keith, when do you have to plan your gallery exhibit?” Lance asked, his leg shaking under the table.

“Not 'til next fall,” Keith answered with a frown.

They were trying form a study group—him, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk—but their success was... questionable. They'd secured a study room nearly every other weekend this semester in the library so that they could research and work on their respective papers together, but everyone definitely had their own study habit demons to face.

Lance usually ran late and took a while to focus; Pidge often wound up studying a second cousin of a tangent of her intended subject and had to be frequently reminded of her actual project. Hunk was the designated caffeine runner since he was also the most likely to fall asleep, and Keith took regular breaks to stretch and walk around because he couldn't handle sitting in one place for so long.

The study room wasn't that big—just enough for a round table with several chairs and a whiteboard that had been stained by previous students using sharpies instead of the appropriate expo markers. Supposedly, the walls were soundproof, but sophomores and up knew better.

“Well...” Lance continued, twirling a pen, “mine is in a few weeks, so you better take notes!”

“I'll think about it,” Keith muttered, refusing to rise to the bait.

Lance had been going on about how great his exhibit would be for the last two months without fully clarifying his project. He told Hunk early on, who surprisingly hadn't blabbed to anyone. (Anyone they knew, anyway.) All Keith could garner was that Lance's submission was somewhat risky, but since the professors accepted it without issue, it couldn't be _that_ unusual.

Lance's projects between the art and theatre departments certainly kept him busy this semester. Keith felt he had barely seen him since midterms, which was strange for them. They saw each other more than their own roommates most days, so being stuck with a sudden Lance-sized hole in his life was... weird.

It kind of sucked.

Even with all Keith's other friends... it was _lonely._

It brought on a barrage of introspection he hadn't faced since his teenage years, which included heavy contemplation over his soul mate. Guilt encroached as he realized he hadn't put nearly as much effort into finding his soul mate in months—maybe even years. He hadn't forgotten about them, he was just... distracted. Between developing new friendships and focusing on schoolwork, discovering their identity simply slipped by the wayside.

He blamed himself for the lack of communication between them now. He used to cling to them and their shared haphazard correspondence, but since he started attending university, his efforts dropped considerably. Loneliness wasn't as hard to deal with when he was surrounded by friends—like Lance.

Lance made it so _easy_ to feel wanted and appreciated—even when he was being a shit. He always made sure everyone felt included, and Keith found his company genuinely enjoyable. They still butted heads every now and then, but they came to understand each other better every time. In a way, Keith felt closer to Lance than even Shiro.

Except that wasn't a fair comparison. They were separate people and Keith shared equally separate relationships with them. Also, Shiro had Allura, his soul mate, meaning he wasn't as socially available as Lance.

...actually, that meant Keith wasn't being entirely fair to Lance. What if Lance's soul mate had needed him when Keith kept him away?

The thought... stung.

Maybe a little distance between him and Lance was for the best.

Then they could both find their soul mates.

Keith chewed on the end of his pen as he reread a paragraph for the fifth time. It wasn't like he was going to cut himself off from his friends, but if they were busy with their own lives, now was as good of a time as any for him to think about his.

He just wanted to recenter, refocus. Reevaluate his soul bond.

Lance interrupted his musing with a wordless poke to the shoulder. Looking up, he noticed Hunk had fallen victim to slumber, face down in his textbook. Pidge readied tissue paper by twisting it together into small spikes as Lance prepared to slip one at a time up their sleeping friend's nostrils.

Keith grinned, retrieving his phone to record the incident. Maybe they'd get more studying done next weekend.

 

* * *

 

“Ready for the show?” Allura asked.

Cocksure grin in place, Lance replied, “You know it!”

The event had been itching under his skin for weeks, and now that it was finally here, he was practically vibrating in place.

It was an hour preceding the gallery opening, and Lance was helping make sure everything was in order for the opening reception. Well, he tried to help. The director and gallery assistants continuously scurried between the white walls, appearing and disappearing faster than Lance could ask “What next?”

He found himself tagging alongside Allura during the hustle and bustle. She was in a photography class as an elective this semester and completing some project on the life cycle of art. Lance was somewhat interested in it, but mostly, he was just glad for a friendly face. The others would arrive for the opening—they'd _promised_.

...okay, so Lance might have badgered them a bit. Still, Hunk was a solid attendee from day one. Pidge was too curious about his project to turn him down, and Matt would attend by extension. Shiro would come as a show of support, but Allura's presence sealed the deal. And Keith?

Lance bit his lip. He honestly wasn't sure if Keith would come or not. Normally he'd say yes, without a doubt, but they'd been on weird footing the last couple weeks and he couldn't place why. Sure, he'd been plenty busy himself, but Keith felt more closed off than usual. It was... odd.

Lance kind of missed him.

Equally odd, he'd received an influx of soul marks the last week or so. Nothing especially meaningful, just little doodles or a “hi.” Lance always responded, but since their conversation never progressed much farther, he could only assume their bond still had a ways to go.

Their lacking communication was probably his fault. With how much effort he'd poured into his performances and classwork, his dedication to his soul bond had waned. Clearly, his soul mate noticed and was trying to reach out to him, yet Lance's reciprocation hadn't gotten them much farther. They probably just weren't on the same wavelength, like always.

Lance frowned at himself. He knew better than to be bitter like that—he _did_. It was just... how to put it...

Lance was no longer sure what role his soul mate would fill in his life. Yes, there was always the aspect of physical intimacy, but beyond that... His emotional needs were already well met by his friends—like Keith.

Granted, Keith wasn't that great at handling his own emotions, but he was an expert at dealing with Lance's. Lance had a tendency to overthink things while Keith cut through the bullshit, revealing the obvious with relative ease. Keith let Lance talk and vent as much as he needed, and he remembered things like coffee orders and shoe sizes without being asked. It was... really sweet, actually.

Lance loved his soul mate— _of course_ he did—but part of him couldn't help but wonder... What could his soul mate provide him that Keith didn't already?

The _click_ of a camera shutter snapped Lance out of rumination, his eyes blinking in surprise.

“What—?”

Allura giggled, teasing, “Lost in thought, oh artist of the hour?” She ignored his flush and continued, “Don't worry about it—you looked good! It'll be a nice shot—I'll be sure to show you later.”

“'Course it was a good shot, but still. Could stand to warn a guy,” Lance muttered, lower lip jutting in a pout. He wasn't camera shy by any means, but candid shots were not to be trusted.

Allura rolled her eyes, gluing her face back to the lens as she commented, “Looks like you're up.”

Turning, Lance saw a girl in plaid and square glasses, one of the gallery assistants, running up to him. Before he could even offer a greeting, she was tugging on his arm, speaking quickly as she dragged him away. Allura waved a halfhearted goodbye as he was absorbed into the frenzy.

“Lance, right? If you need to prep, let's take care of it now. Gallery opens in twenty minutes. You can use one of our closets here to hold any of your stuff—okay, it's supposed to be a legit prep room, but it's tiny as hell. Is your friend holding onto your phone?”

Stumbling behind her, he said, “Um, I was hoping to keep it on hand for selfies. I'll keep it silent, if that's what you're worried about.”

Nodding, she said, “Yeah, okay, that's fine, then. Alright, here's the closet.” Sweeping open a narrow door around the backside of the gallery, Lance understood what she meant.

A table stood in the center of the square room, covered with flyers and posters and cutting boards and straight edge rulers and pencils. (So many pencils. Not a one of them sharp.) Jackets and purses and the like lined the wall, presumably from the other assistants. Signboards leaned against the opposite wall, and paper slivers littered the hard floor. A few tool boxes sat at the far wall underneath the tiniest window, its glass so thick the sunlight could barely filter through.

“Okay, the general idea of your piece was explained to me. Do you need a mirror or anything? Or are you already set?”

Lance shook his head. “Nah, I took care of that earlier. Was anyone able to find a space heater for me?”

“Yep, it's right behind the pedestal. Feel free to move or adjust it as you see fit. And you know where your spot is?”

Nodding, he said, “Yeah, they showed me yesterday. I should be good to go.”

“Perfect, grab one of us if you have any questions!” she said with a smile, waving as she exited the room.

Alone, Lance took a deep breath and stripped his shirt, revealing the body paint on his chest.

Earlier that morning, he had applied a number of blue dots around his left pectoral, creating the vague shape of a heart. He'd drawn several lines connecting the dots but left half of the outline incomplete. Hunk, like a champ, helped Lance make sure the body paint was set before leaving the apartment.

Peering at his chest to reassure himself it hadn't smudged, he gasped at an unexpected addition.

With red—was that marker?—his soul mate completed the shape.

Warmth pooled in Lance's chest as a flush filled his cheeks, a silly grin overwhelming his face.

“My title's a lie,” he mumbled to himself, laughter in his voice. “ _Missed Connections_? I don't think so...”

 

* * *

 

“Keith, where are you?” Shiro asked, crowd chatter buzzing in the background.

“Almost there,” Keith huffed into his phone, power walking across the crammed parking lot. Too many cars to even squeeze his _bike_ in—what the _hell_.

He was late. He was _so freaking late_. Lance's opening started nearly an hour ago and all their friends were already there, making Keith's absence that much more noticeable.

There would have been plenty of time for him to run to the store before the opening if he hadn't noticed the soul mark on his chest directly before heading out. Part of him wanted to leave it alone since he had obligations, but the mark itself—a fragmented series of dots and lines—practically begged him to finish the shape. He swore he could almost _feel_ the longing emanating from it.

So he did the only thing to do. Finding a red marker nearby, he drew in the lines to complete the heart, smiling soft to himself at the result. He hoped his soul mate saw it, too.

Maybe he would tell Lance about it, if he was really that upset. With any luck, the bouquet of roses cradled in Keith's arms would make up for his tardiness. Sure, this was for a gallery opening and not a theatrical performance, but he hoped Lance would appreciate the gesture, all the same.

“That's what you told Pidge twenty minutes ago,” Shiro said.

“Parking was hell, Shiro,” Keith snapped. “I'll be there in a few.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a sigh. “See you soon, then.”

Pocketing his phone, Keith hurried on, flowers clutched to his chest as he finally made it to the door. The building was unusually warm with all the bodies wedged inside. Compared to the semi-formal attire surrounding him, Keith felt slightly under-dressed in his simple black v-neck, but that was something to worry about another time.

Framing the entrance to the gallery were buffet tables with spreads of crackers, cheeses, grapes, and numerous hors d'ouvres. Half of it was cleared out even as gallery assistants rushed through the crowd to keep the platters full. Keith did not envy them, especially the students balancing an oversized bowl of punch.

Thankfully, Pidge texted him directions to Lance's corner of the gallery. Turning right as he entered, he kept his eyes peeled for familiar faces as he scanned the room. Aside from Pidge, most of his friends were relatively tall.

Lance, it seemed, was taller than usual.

Keith grinned as their eyes met, Lance's expression brightening instantly.

Making his way through the throng of people, Keith realized why Lance was so tall—he was standing on a pedestal. Also, he was shirtless. Also—

Keith nearly stopped dead in his tracks.

Proudly displayed on Lance's chest was a heart.

A heart echoing Keith's own.

A soul mark.

The world went numb as Keith pressed forward, his smile dropping as shock took over. His eyebrows drew close together as his brain tried to accept the fact that was being shoved in front of him—the fact that... that...

He was practically shaking by the time he stood directly in front of Lance, whose posture had closed perceptibly, hand on the back of his neck and smile uncertain.

“Keith, you—you look mad,” he said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. In the pause that followed, Lance gestured weakly at the flowers, “Are—are those for me?”

Pidge appeared out of nowhere and jabbed Keith's side with her elbow, hissing, “ _Say something_.”

But Keith couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was no good at words and his jaw was too tense to move. Instead, he tossed the flowers on the pedestal by Lance's feet, grabbed his forearm, and pulled him bodily out of the gallery.

“Dude— _dude!_ ” Lance yelled, floundering after him.

Keith was causing a scene. He knew he was even if he didn't mean it, so he dragged his—his...

He dragged Lance out in the hallway, leading him around the back of the gallery where he knew it would be less crowded. A few people still occupied the area, so he tugged them inside the first door he saw.

It was a closet. Or, well, not really a closet, but it was very, very cramped. There was a table and jackets and tools absolutely everywhere. Keith barely saw any of it. It was hard to see anything other than Lance in front of him, nervous and shirtless with his—with _their—_ soul mark bare for the world to see.

“Keith?”

Lance's voice was low, gentle. Keith still couldn't speak, a shuddering breath escaping instead. His eyes felt hot.

“Keith, what—“ his words cut off as Keith reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling up and over, flinging the fabric to the floor.

Jaw dropped, Lance stared with wide eyes at the mirroring soul mark on Keith's chest, hand reaching out as if he couldn't trust his eyes. Keith failed to suppress a shiver as Lance's fingers grazed over the mark, a jolt of static tracing its shape on his skin.

“ _You_ ,” Lance whispered with reverence, a lifetime's worth of meanings behind the single word.

“Me,” Keith confirmed, a smile finally breaking through the sea of emotion clogging his throat.

They fell together to their knees, embracing and clutching with relentless grips as laughter bubbled in offbeat hiccups.

Keith buried his face against Lance's neck, and Lance's face disappeared in his hair. There was too much to say; he couldn't even attempt getting the words out in the moment. He simply breathed in a mix of Lance's shampoo and cologne, like the wind before the rain.

Eventually, they relaxed, resting their foreheads against each other as their torsos sagged apart.

“Yes,” Keith said, quiet. At Lance's questioning eyebrow, he clarified, “The flowers. They're for you.”

Another small laugh rattled from Lance's chest, his eyes crinkling. Keith adored the sight.

“Please,” Lance murmured, “please say I can kiss you.”

Saying nothing, Keith leaned forward, eagerly pressing their lips together in a firm collision of fate as stars burst behind his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Keith became a permanent addition to Lance's exhibition, their hands tightly clasped as they stood poised upon the pedestal. The body paint on their chests was smudged, but the soul marks remained clear, their hearts rising and falling as one.

 

* * *

 

_And while the moment soul mates discover one another is truly magical, it is really only the beginning of much more magic to come._

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you enjoyed the ride :D
> 
> (yes, i know Lance's exhibit is more body art than performance art, but shhhh)


End file.
